


Come on and Slam (and Welcome to Rakuzan)

by deplore



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:51:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deplore/pseuds/deplore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for Q245. Akashi recruits Mayuzumi's help in creating a new offensive move. It is very difficult to say "no" to him.</p><blockquote>
  <p>Akashi gives him a Look, one that Mayuzumi unconsciously associates with hellfire and divine punishment. “I will be doing the jumping,” he says. “All you need to do is pass.”</p>
  <p>There is a long pause. For the first time in years, Mayuzumi has to actively keep his expression absolutely deadpan. “Well,” he says, then stops because he can feel a laugh building up in his chest and he really wants to graduate with his all body parts intact and where they should be. </p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Come on and Slam (and Welcome to Rakuzan)

**Author's Note:**

>  

“I would like to practice a new move with you, Chihiro,” Akashi says. “An alley-oop.”

When Akashi had asked him to stay after practice to talk, Mayuzumi had been assuming that it would be for much more terrifying reasons than this. He tries not to visibly relax too much. “If you’re talking about jumping power, I think there are better choices than me,” he replies.

Akashi gives him a Look, one that Mayuzumi unconsciously associates with hellfire and divine punishment. “I will be doing the jumping,” he says. “All you need to do is pass.”

There is a long pause. For the first time in years, Mayuzumi has to actively keep his expression absolutely deadpan. “Well,” he says, then stops because he can feel a laugh building up in his chest and he really wants to graduate with his all body parts intact and where they should be.

An explicit confirmation was never actually needed, though — it’s Akashi asking, and nobody on the basketball team lacks a sense of self-preservation to the point of doing something as stupid as speaking against Akashi when his mind is clearly already set. Akashi throws him a ball and Mayuzumi catches it. “Aim the ball so that it’ll pass diagonally above the hoop,” Akashi instructs.

Mayuzumi spends an hour and a half throwing balls from various spots on the three-point arc, trying very hard to not imagine about Akashi slam dunking and wondering if this is secretly some kind of mental strengthening exercise.

  
  
  


Akashi makes him practice passes for two weeks before deciding that Mayuzumi’s throw is consistent enough for him to even bother with his half of the alley-oop. Seized with a strange and foreign feeling to be a good upperclassman, Mayuzumi considers telling him something like, _don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work out, captain_ , as they prepare for the first full test-run — but then he thinks better of it. The sentiment is clearly misguided.

“We’ll start from the half-court. Go at your own pace, I’ll match you,” Akashi tells him. “We’ll work it up to full speed later.”

Mayuzumi knows a little bit about how the physical world works. To be specific, he is aware that people are capable from jumping higher when their running start is faster. If he wanted for some reason or another to purposely sabotage their alley-oop, then it would be as simple as slowing down by a beat or two. If he goes too fast, though, then it’ll be more difficult to find the moment of connect between his assist and Akashi’s score.

In other words: Mayuzumi is even more nervous at this moment than he’s ever been sitting a test. Even his university selection exams suddenly seem incredibly trivial compared to deciding how to set the pace. “On three,” Akashi says, cutting short any lingering contemplations on whether or not he should prepare another form of resignation as soon as he gets home.

Mayuzumi runs at about three-quarters of his normal in-game speed, and Akashi stays a step or two in front of him. Right before he throws, he and Akashi meet eyes briefly; Akashi nods by just the tiniest degree. Mayuzumi throws the ball.

He’s so busy watching it happen that he almost forgets to be surprised when Akashi drops his center of gravity low for a split second before pushing off the floor, launching himself up _at least_ half his own height, if not more. The only reason the ball doesn’t make it through the hoop is that Mayuzumi’s thrown it too far in front for Akashi to be able to push it through. _What the hell,_ Mayuzumi thinks to himself. _I don’t understand how that just happened, but I’m pretty sure Akashi Seijuurou just gave the middle finger to both logic and physics._

Akashi lands more gracefully than any human being has the right to; the sound of impact is so slight that Mayuzumi begins to wonder if Akashi is somehow channeling the weightless female protagonist of _Bakemonogatari_. “That was acceptable for a first try,” Akashi says. “Chihiro, I take it that you already know how to improve upon that pass.”

“Ah,” Mayuzumi replies. Akashi tilts his head at that response, so Mayuzumi decides to elaborate: “It needed to be closer to the hoop.”

“Let’s do it again,” Akashi says. Mayuzumi nods and decides not to think about things too much.

On their second try, Akashi doesn’t jump high enough and misses the arc of the ball by a good hand’s width, swiping his hand through empty air. For some reason, Mayuzumi feels mortified watching it happen while Akashi brushes it off surprisingly easily. “I apologize, that was lacking on my part,” he says after he’s retrieved the ball.

 _Stop the presses, Akashi Seijuurou is a human being who makes mistakes_ , Mayuzumi thinks to himself, even though he rationally knew that already. “Again?” he asks.

“Again,” Akashi confirms, throwing the ball back to Mayuzumi.

  
  
  


If there is one thing Mayuzumi has to say about Akashi after they’ve finished their extra practice that day, it’s that Akashi’s sense of perseverance is truly commendable. Normal people might have call it quits after almost slamming into the hoop pole ( _twice_ ) or coming just a fraction of a degree from unbalancing and introducing their face to the floor. Not so for Akashi Seijuurou — he kept on trucking through it until he finally looked up and said, “My legs have reached their limit for the day. Let’s pick up on this tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Mayuzumi had said. He imagines two hours of doing jumping on the level of an Olympic track and field athlete would tend to take its toll on the knees — besides that, he’s just glad that Akashi didn’t make them stick it through until they’d finally managed to do an alley-oop successfully.

If there is another thing, it’s that Mayuzumi needs to kill his memories of the practice ever happening if he wants to continue being able to look Akashi in the eye and not think about how funny it had been the one time Akashi had fallen flat on his ass and actively pretended that he hadn’t noticed Mayuzumi offering a hand.

  
  
  


“Is everything okay?” Hayama asks at practice the next day. “You look, like, even more dead inside than usual.”

Mayuzumi stares at him blankly. “I’m fine,” he replies.

He watches as Hayama runs over to Mibuchi and pulls at the end of his T-shirt. “Reo-nee!” Hayama says. “I think Mayuzumi’s broken or something!”

Mibuchi looks up and meets gazes with Mayuzumi. For some unknown reason, Mayuzumi’s found that people seem to believe that they’re holding deep conversations through eye contact with him quite often, when in reality he’s not thinking about anything in particular, let alone about holding a meaningful dialogue. He waits for Mibuchi to finish having their assumed mental conversation patiently — finally, Mibuchi nods at him and tells Hayama, “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure Mayuzumi’s just tired. After all, he and Sei-chan have been doing extra practice.”

Hayama nods through the explanation. “Yeah, that’d _definitely_ explain why it looks like he’s lost all hope in life,” he says, so cheerfully that Mayuzumi wants to throw something at his face.

  
  
  


Akashi gets better at sticking his landing very quickly — after a week, give or take a few days, he manages to almost always return to the ground rather elegantly without any falling-on-his-ass incidents — but their alley-oop combo remains woefully inconsistent. They complete it a few times, but it’s more fluke lucky shots than anything else. Sometimes it’s Mayuzumi’s pass that’s in question, more rarely it’s that Akashi jumps at the wrong place or time, but mostly it’s that the ball simply fails to connect between them.

On a particularly bad day, Akashi stops them half an hour into their extra practice. “Let’s take a break,” he says. “It would be better to think through why it isn’t working rather than continue trying like this.”

Mayuzumi shrugs and follows Akashi to the benches, where they sit in complete silence for at least fifteen minutes. Mayuzumi knows he’s supposed to be wracking his brains over basketball, but mostly he watches Akashi, who’s wearing a strangely childish expression of determination. _Amazing_ , he thinks. _He still can seem like a kid, but if only you look hard enough_.

“Chihiro,” Akashi asks, breaking the quiet. “Do you trust me?”

Mayuzumi blinks a few times, shaking off his idle thoughts. “Come again,” he finally replies, wondering if he heard right.

“I want to know if you trust me to be able to make this shot,” Akashi says, turning to look him straight in the eye. Even under normal circumstances, he has to admit it’s difficult to hold Akashi’s gaze — but he’s never felt it so intensely focused on him before, even including their first meeting.

“If there were any other person under 175 centimeters who came to me asking to help them dunk a basketball, I would laugh in their face and tell them to stop wasting my time,” he answers, tone carefully even. “But I believe that you can do it.”

“And do you trust in yourself to make the pass?” Akashi continues.

Mayuzumi scoffs. He knows Akashi knows he’s got his pride. “Of course I do.”

“Then, do you believe that  _we_ , as a pair, can do this?” Akashi asks, leaning in towards him. “Because I’m of the opinion that this is a play that I could only make if you were the one giving me the pass.”

He contemplates briefly about the implications of what Akashi has told him. Then he pushes himself off the bench, bending over to pick up the closest ball. “Let’s keep going,” he replies, knowing very well that Akashi can read between the lines well enough to hear his answer in there.

Mayuzumi is not a very sentimental person — if asked, he would unhesitatingly admit that he's of the opinion that birthdays merely mark the inevitable process of time, most holidays are only there to pay lip service and provide gratuitous days off, romance is partially the result of a fear that one will be forced to spend their life alone. Still, if pressed, he’d have to admit: there is a different feeling in his fingertips when he passes Akashi the ball this time.

Akashi intercepts it at the perfect spot above the hoop and pushes it through before landing. Mayuzumi decides to politely pretend like he didn’t see the self-satisfied smile Akashi lets himself wear for a split second before hiding it.

  
  
  


The first time they publicly unveil their new combination offense is during a practice match against Rakuzan’s second-string. Akashi plays it safe and only gives him the signal when the inside is almost completely empty, still rushing to catch up — Mayuzumi passes just as Akashi begins his jump and Akashi slams the ball through the hoop.

The entire gym goes very silent afterwards — including all of the players on the court, even the ones on their side. Mayuzumi can hear the joint thought circulating through the room: _Did that really just happen? Did Akashi Seijuurou just slam dunk out of sheer force of will? Un-fucking-believable_. Mayuzumi can’t blame them; he’s been seeing this happen for almost three weeks now and he still finds it impossible to explain.

Nobody’s paying attention to him, but besides the fact that he’s so beyond caring, Mayuzumi finds he doesn’t mind being overshadowed by Akashi very much. Akashi’s easy to get caught up in. _Keep your eyes on me_ , he seems to say. _Watch me because I might do something incredible._ So everybody does, and they let Mayuzumi escape from them. Such is simply how it should be.

As they jog back to the other half of the court to play defense, Akashi passes him and they catch each others’ gazes. “Nice assist,” Akashi says.

It takes Mayuzumi a little by surprise. “Yeah. Nice dunk,” he replies. There’s a moment he thinks he sees Akashi smile briefly before they both look forward again.

  
  
  


BONUS:

“Anyway, I’ve been wondering this for a while, but… why an alley-oop?” Mayuzumi asks.

“It’s a high-level offensive move, so a successful alley-oop is certain have a significant mental impact on the other team,” Akashi answers, a little too quickly.

 _So basically you want to slam dunk because of your Napoleon complex_ , Mayuzumi thinks to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't been the same ever since i heard akashi can slam dunk. he must be stopped immediately. also: this fic was supposed to be funny but then akamayu happened. akamayu are ruining my life.
> 
> by the way, [_bakemonogatari_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monogatari_\(series\)#Plot_and_setting) is a light novel.


End file.
